


That's What They Don't Know

by persephoneapple



Series: A Series of Nonsensical Events [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Muggle Technology, Song Reference, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephoneapple/pseuds/persephoneapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco listens to Harry’s iPod one morning and has a few choice words about a particular Muggle song he hears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What They Don't Know

**Author's Note:**

> **That's What They Don't Know**  
>  **Harry/Draco [PG, 1231 words]**  
>  **Disclaimer:** JK Rowling and co own everything. I’m writing for fun and not for profit.  
>  **A/N:** unbeta'd, slight crack!fic, and possibly ooc. Written for the prompt: popular song. Ha, I have both songs referenced in the fic on my iPod at the moment, so I guess I'm just as guilty as Harry and Draco.  
> 

Harry has to swallow the hot tea he has been drinking in order to not spit it out all over his shirt when he catches the strange sight of his boyfriend in the bedroom. Draco is lying on the bed, feet dangling off the edge of the mattress as he stares at the red iPod in his hand. He has an exasperated expression on his face as he bites his bottom lip to try to control his laughter.

It couldn’t be the iPod that puzzled him; Hermione had recently given the iPod to Harry as a birthday present. Harry had given Draco a crash course in Muggle technology because he seemed interested in a device that could hold thousands of songs. In fact, Draco had liked it so much that he had asked Harry to add his favourite songs and had borrowed it every time they had brunch at the Burrow. If he couldn’t hear anyone, Draco had said, then there was a small chance of him insulting anyone.

Draco had a twisted sense of reality, but Harry had grown used to his outlandish explanations for everything because in the end, they didn’t hurt anyone.

Draco is still too engrossed with the iPod to even pay attention to Harry when he flops onto the bed and gives him a fierce hug. “Potter!” he exclaims, yanking out the earbuds. “What was that for?” He tries to glare, but Harry is too fast and kisses him before he can start ranting.

“And a good morning to you, too. Why are you awake so early?” Harry asks when they pull apart, because usually on the weekends Draco preferred to sleep in as late as possible. Creative minds, he had once told Harry when they were still getting to know each other, worked best late into the night. Harry figured that since Draco had invented some useful potions in the past few years, he must be right and would let him sleep at his leisure.

Harry, on the other hand, is up before the crack of dawn every day, running several miles before coming home to take a quick shower. He would even have breakfast ready by the time Draco even considered waking up.

“You woke me up when you threw this at me before going to take a shower.” Draco gives him a glare, no doubt waiting for an apology.

“I didn’t throw it at you or even mean to hit you. It was raining during my morning run and I just wanted to get out of my wet clothes and into a warm shower before I got sick…” Harry trails off when he sees that Draco is staring at him with a look of disbelief.

“You’re a wizard, Potter, use your magic. Spell yourself dry or use a water-repelling charm.”

“Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good boyfriend at home who will take care of me if I get sick?”

“I will do no such thing. If you get sick, I will shove potions down your throat, and if that fails, I’ll floo you to St Mungo’s where you will be treated.” Draco shivers as if the idea of taking care of Harry is a nightmare, perhaps because Draco hates being sick, and he rolls onto his back, ready to listen to music rather than continuing the conversation.

Harry gives a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I see. Sometimes I think you only like me for my iPod.”

Draco lets out a snort. “You wish. You’re taste in music is… astonishing,” he finishes, but Harry would have bet every Galleon he had at Gringotts that Draco had another word at the tip of his tongue.

Harry arches an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t realise you liked anything other than classical songs, or Celestina Warbeck singing on the Wireless at Christmas.” Harry had often teased him for his love of classical music and had been surprised to find that along with playing the piano, Draco knew how to play the flute. His offhand remark of “Is that why you’re so good at giving blow jobs? You’ve had years of practise with the flute?” had earned him several nights of sleeping on the couch.

“I’m may not know much about Muggle music, but I do have good taste and that, Potter,” he says, pointing to the iPod, “is anything but. I’ve spent most of the morning feeling as if I am listening to diary entries.” He holds out an earbud to Harry, who rolls his eyes before slipping under the covers next to Draco and complying. Once Draco gets on his soapbox, it takes a while to get him off.

“Listen,” Draco says, and Harry does, hearing the familiar whimsical sounds of the drums, trumpets and fast beats that have been overplayed on the radio for the past few weeks. It’s the music he can’t escape, the one song he has heard every time he steps into the Muggle world and can’t get out of his mind no matter how hard he tries (and he’s considered an _Obliviate_ ) until he finally gave in and bought the damned song.

“Riveting, Potter,” Draco says, placing his hand over his heart. “I really understand the emotional depths of this song, it grips my soul.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like I’m actually paying attention to the words. It’s just something upbeat that I like to listen to as I run.”

“I bet,” Draco says as he lets the iPod drop to the bed. “She sure likes to _shake_ it a lot, don’t you think?”

Harry can practically see Draco processing that information in his brain and he shakes his head. “Believe me, Draco, I think Taylor Swift is the last person who would write a song specifically about sex.”

“Well, not explicitly, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true.”

Harry flops over onto the bed and snorts, now understanding why Draco was laughing earlier. It’s not that hard of a stretch, considering the singer’s love life and her penchant for writing songs about ex-lovers, but Draco didn’t know anything about that. It was just another one of his strange observations. “Maybe. Now are you done insulting my music? I actually made breakfast if you cared to join me.”

Draco smirks and pops both earbuds back in. “No, this is much more fun. What else does Harry Potter listen to? I bet Rita Skeeter or _Witch Weekly_ would pay a fortune to know a trivial fact about the Chosen One.”

He looks so smug that Harry can’t resist getting on top of him, until their chests are pressed together and says, “You wouldn’t dare. Or I’ll give an exclusive interview about the time you got so drunk at Blaise’s stag party, you sang karaoke off-pitch all night long. In fact, it was a particular boy band that held your attention, remember?”

Draco turns paler than normal, and he avoids looking straight at Harry, but then he lets out a small huff of annoyance. “Fine. But that night didn’t happen.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Harry says, laughing. “Now, tell me, Draco, do you know what makes you beautiful?”

There is a moment of silence and Harry thinks that Draco is angry enough that he isn’t going to say anything. But then at last Harry hears Draco say “Wanker,” right before a pillow is thrown at his head.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you'd like more Harry/Draco, then follow me on [tumblr](http://persephoneapples.tumblr.com/).


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